


Silenced by a Northern Voice

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Bazhir, Desert, Gen, Identity, Imperialism, Knight and Squire - Freeform, Politics, References to Canon-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Zahir is silenced by a northern Voice.





	Silenced by a Northern Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [westernsunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernsunset/gifts).



> Written for westernsunset as part of the Wishing Tree Event at Goldenlake.

Silenced by a Northern Voice

“It’s remarkable how many creature comforts are available in the desert, isn’t it, Zahir?” After a long day of riding with the Sunset Dragon tribe, King Jonathan reclined on a pile of pillows, black hair rippling in the breeze blowing through the open tent flap. 

“It’s remarkable we savage Bazhir have any trappings of civilization even with the northerners graciously guiding us out of our primitive ways, yes, sire.” Zahir was proud that his voice didn’t shake even if his hand did as he poured a glass of cold date juice for his knightmaster. After so many humiliating defeats since the days of his great-grandfather, the Bazhir had to cling to small victories against the northerners to preserve their dignity. 

“My comment was an expression of admiration, not an insult.” King Jonathan’s eyes were calm and blue as an oasis over the rim of his glass as he sipped at his juice. “You know I’ve nothing but sincere respect for the Bazhir. I’m one myself by blood, don’t forget.” 

The king was so polished in his demeanor and so remote from the sandy desert in his stone palace that Zahir wondered more often than he liked how his knightmaster whom he was honor-bound to serve until his dying breath could be sincere about anything. 

“The Bazhir forget nothing involving blood, Your Majesty.” Zahir hoped that the king would think of his ancestor’s—the one for whom he had named his third son—bloody conquest that had stolen the desert from the Bazhir. The Voice, he thought, drowning in an ocean of salty bitterness, should remember without prompting the greatest sorrow and shame of the Bazhir, the stinging failure to protect their home from invaders who could never understand the desert as instinctually as the Bazhir did. 

“Then the Bazhir remember the rites that initiated me into the tribes and rose me to Voice for all the Bazhir.” King Jonathan set his emptied glass firmly on the low table as if blood rituals determined his legitimacy rather than a thousand conversations and debates around campfires, as if the Bazhir were governed by blood like the shallow northerners instead of the collective will of the Bazhir as voted in front of evening fires. 

“There’s more to the Bazhir than blood,” said Zahir haughtily, snatching up the glass to be washed. Blood rites weren’t what made someone a Bazhir, and the Voice should have known that in his bones. Listening to the tales spun like wool from the tribe shaman by flickering firelight was how a person absorbed Bazhir values and became a true Bazhir. Riding before walking was how Bazhir a Bazhir was born. Sensing in the sand and the air where an oasis could be found was how a Bazhir lived, connected to the desert that had been home to his ancestors for years beyond counting even in legend. 

“I know that, Zahir,” King Jonathan insisted, but Zahir couldn’t believe him. The king had been born a northern prince in a palace, not a Bazhir in a canvas tent, and it showed like a court lady’s wart that couldn’t be covered by powder—indeed was only thrust into starker prominence by any effort to conceal its ugliness—so he offered no reply beyond a short bow. 

Like all Bazhir, he had been silenced by a northern Voice.


End file.
